


the perfect time to lay all night

by bisexualhotchner



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Comfort Sex, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23501776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualhotchner/pseuds/bisexualhotchner
Summary: They love each other. No, they don't. Yes, they do.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Ray Person
Comments: 14
Kudos: 78





	the perfect time to lay all night

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank my boyfriend Liam, my buddy Melinda, and the PJFA server to keep me on my toes, musical artist Tamino for the amazing lyrics, and the hungarian dub of Generation Kill for being so trashy and making me laugh so hard that I forgot about being depressed.

It wasn't often that either of them let themselves get lost in it.

They fucked. Sometimes multiple times a day. And it's not like they weren't passionate about it, but it was rarely really lovemaking.

Ray moved in with him shortly after they came back from Iraq. Or he just came over and sort of never left. Every day he looked worse than the day before and the therapists' contacts Brad never actually shoved under his nose just kept piling in Brad's neat little notebook. Ray never re-upped for another tour, and he never showed any sign of wanting to go back to Missouri, either. And despite all the myths about the Iceman, Brad wasn't insensitive, nor stupid enough to confront him about it.

Ray was positively shell-shocked. And Brad had thought about talking to him, maybe getting him to open up, but being his friend, offering him a place to stay, beer to drink and barbecue to prepare for the rest of their marine family was something that seemed to help more than any kind of sorta-therapy Brad could ever give him.

One thing lead to another, after all. Ray crawled into bed with him one night, drenched in sweat, his musk strong enough to wake him before the feeling of his warmth or the dip in his mattress could. It had brought Brad back to Iraq, to graves in the dirt and shallow breathing and the smell of oil and gunpowder and Ray chewing on coffee crystals, trembling from caffeine and sleep deprivation.

This Ray was also shaking by his side, and this time, Brad didn't see why he shouldn't reach out and wrap his arms around his middle, pulling him into himself and burying his face in the sweaty hair on the nape of his neck.

He rarely lost himself in it, but today, with Ray grinding down on his crotch like that, Brad moaned out louder than he ever had, gripping his ass with two hands and tipping his head back onto the pillow.

'Fuck,' he cursed, pushing his fingers deeper down in Ray's jeans, his thumbs squeezing his ass into his palms, fingernails digging into the tender flesh on the top of his thigh. 'Ray, _please_.'

Ray licked the skin under his jaw into his mouth, sucking it sharply between his teeth as Brad let out a wrecked moan, craning his neck to allow better access to Ray's ministrations. He was hard ever since Ray slipped into his lap at breakfast, eggs and bacon and waffles forgotten on their plates, and the way Ray was rolling his hips took him dangerously close to coming in his sleep shorts. He flexed his hands, nails biting sharply into the underside of Ray's ass. Ray let out a high pitched-moan, arching his back off and his hips into Brad, jerking from the sudden, rough sensations.

Brad wanted to feel all of him. His hot skin against his own, the friction of it, he wanted it bared, he wanted him naked, he wanted him and this want had apparently consumed what coherency he had left in him, because even though he wanted Ray to undress, he couldn't find it in himself to let him go. Instead, he pushed up Ray's band t-shirt, his palms pressing against him, searching, seeking until his fingertips circled around his nipple, pinching it just lightly.

‘You dick, I told you not to-’ Ray panted, a startled whine ripping out of him and breaking him off, arching his chest into Brad’s hand. The pressure was gone from Brad’s crotch now as Ray slid further up his torso as he was squirming, and like this he had enough clarity to take notice of Ray’s shaking arms by his side. He reached up to push his fingers into his hair - longer now: out of the regulations he wasn’t entitled to follow anymore -, and something tugged behind his ribs at the wrecked look Ray gave him for that. 

Brad grabbed him by his thigh and the nape of his neck, and swiftly rolled them over on the bed. He took his time to stare at him, his chest rapidly rising and falling from breathing too hard, the tattoos dancing on his skin. He was fucking beautiful like that: flushed, worn out and only his.

‘Take your pants off.’ Brad ordered huskily, his palms still roaming Ray’s toned torso, the pressure of his touch effectively pinning him to the bed. _‘Fuck’_ he hissed then, leaning down to put his mouth against the sensitive skin above Ray’s armpit, biting and sucking at it until Ray personally shoved him away so they could get with the program. ‘Pants.’ Brad told him again, this time with less bite, and scrambled to his knees so he could salvage some lube and condoms from his bedside drawer.

Ray rolled his eyes at him as he yanked his fly open, pushing his jeans down to his knees in one firm motion. Brad kneeled back down between his legs in the meantime, tossing his hauls carelessly beside them - Ray wondered why he found that so fucking hot - and bending down to help Ray get those skinny jeans all the way off.

And when Ray was laying there, squirming and completely exposed, waiting on Brad to get on with it and jam two lubed-up fingers up into his ass, Brad suddenly stopped. He looked at Ray, took a deep breath, stroked down the top of his thigh, and did absolutely nothing else. Ray wanted to kick him in the head.

‘Brad, dude, tell me you’re not having an early case of erectile dysfunction on me.’

‘Ray, shut the fuck up.’ Brad told him, his voice thick with annoyance and lust. Ray’s skills included making him the horniest and angriest he’s ever been with someone every waking minute of the day. If he hadn’t known him longer, he would be impressed.

‘There’s nothing wrong with performance issues, man.’ Ray laughed, wheezing a little as Brad purposefully dragged his blunt nails down his V-line. ‘I get it, you’re an old man, almost thirty-’ he cut himself off suddenly, as Brad positioned himself so he could press his lips directly to the tip of his dick. A shudder ripped through him.

‘I said,’ Brad breathed, mouthing along his shaft and wrapping his hand around the base of his dick. ‘shut your mouth, Ray.’

  
  
  


Ray climbed out the bed as soon as he was able to move. It was a habit of his: he opened Brad’s bedroom window all the way, put on some kind of underpants - this time, it was Brad’s discarded sleep shorts - and sat up on the sill to smoke a cigarette. After a while, Brad just grew tired of yelling at him for the faint stink that left in his bedroom, and bought him an ashtray that they kept on the outside part of the ledge.

There was a small sound of cheap porcelain scratching against metal as Ray pulled the tray closer to himself. The streets were relatively quiet, and the air that poured in on Brad’s naked, slick body was warm and distantly smelling of sea salt. Brad closed his eyes, listened to Ray shuffling with his pack and clicking his lighter, and braced himself for the bitter stink of smoke.

‘Those are gonna kill you.’ he told him, out of habit.

‘That’s kinda fucked up.’ Ray admitted, also out of habit. ‘After all that shit we survived, I get home and drop dead from smoking.’

‘I guess you’re right.’ Brad tucked his arms under his pillow, adjusting his position. He hummed softly into his biceps, turning his head. ‘Don’t get yourself killed, Ray. That’s an order from your direct superior.’

‘Solid copy.’ he said bitterly, taking a long drag of his cigarette and curling up against the window frame. Brad cracked his eyelids open, and spent one or two minutes carefully studying the unhealthy curve of his back.

‘Come here.’

‘ ‘that another order, Sergeant?’

‘Negative.’ Brad stretched out his back, softly groaning at the cracking sounds along his spine. He then climbed out of the bed, walking over to Ray, paying close attention to how he tensed up at his approach. ‘Just a preference. I’ll go if you won’t.’

‘Great. Just what I needed.’ Ray barked, shrugging off Brad’s hand from his shoulder. Brad touched him again, lower this time, against his shoulder blade. He seemed to slowly relax into it, shoulders dropping a little with each second.

_You don’t need to talk about it_ , Brad thought, a little heartbroken as he bent down and pressed a soft kiss against the nape of his neck. His hands stroked down along Ray’s spine, finally curling around his waist to hold him in place as he pressed up against him.

‘Miss me with this gay shit, Bradley.’ Ray said, annoyed, but he actually seemed to relax further as Brad kissed his head, dark, course hair prickling his nose. ‘If that’s your sappy, kindergarten, queer way of saying you like me, you can drop it right now. You don’t need to do this bro, sucking my dick was one great fucking confession already.’

‘If it took you until sucking your dick to figure out that I like you, you’re more of a messed up, repressed dumbass hick than I ever thought you were.’ Brad pressed his lips against the tip of Ray’s ear, and smiled slowly as he felt the skin heat up under his mouth.

‘Your eggs got cold.’ Ray mumbled, dropping his fingers from his knee and reaching down to stroke the back of Brad’s hand instead. Everything was soft, warm and safe around them. ‘Let’s get takeout.’

‘I have a microwave, Ray. Maybe you’ve heard of such an invention after all these months spent in the civilized world?’

‘I want pizza.’

‘I just went grocery shopping yesterday. My fridge is filled to the brim with food.’

‘A fuckton of olives. And pepperoni. And cheese.’

‘I don’t do dairy. And olives can rot in hell. I’ll get you Hawaii.’

‘If you dare feeding me pineapples on pizza, I’m gonna kick your liberal Californian ass Brad, and I fucking mean it.’

‘I take back everything. You’re a little piece of shit, and I hate your guts.’

_Stay as long as you like_ , Brad thought fondly as he reached over to the bedside drawer for his phone - not at all bothering to let go of Ray while doing so.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Lego for feeding us so well, and Cait for going down the rabbit hole with us. Love y'all!


End file.
